


nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same

by Suicix



Series: every word handwritten [1]
Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Engaged Couple, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Musician Im Jaebum | JB, Writer Park Jinyoung | Jr.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suicix/pseuds/Suicix
Summary: Jaebum sings and Jinyoung writes and somehow it's never enough, but they'll always have each other - and thatis.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i just. love writer jinyoung. and musician jaebum. there are also tinges of angst in this, but not very much at all. it was supposed to be angstier, but it ended up not even warranting a "light angst" tag imo!
> 
> i don't usually put in my notes where i get my titles from, but this one is from "handwritten" by the gaslight anthem, which is perhaps my very favourite song ever (lyrically, it definitely is).

There are days, Jaebum thinks, when he wouldn’t change a thing, and this is one of those. It’s Saturday morning, the sun is getting higher in the sky, and he and Jinyoung are sitting outside their favourite coffee shop, two iced Americanos and a pastry to share on the table. It’s quiet for now, the neighbourhood only just waking up, only a couple of cars passing by and even fewer pedestrians.

Jaebum’s not paying attention to any of it: his eyes are only on Jinyoung. Jinyoung’s sitting across from him, sipping at his drink and watching the world wake up, probably weaving a story in his mind about each person that passes. The fact that there’s hardly anyone gives him time to flesh them out as characters, to mould them in his mind and turn them into people they’ll likely never know exist. Jaebum thinks it’s fascinating, how Jinyoung can create so much and how easily he seems to do it, how _interesting_ it all seems to be. He could probably listen to Jinyoung talk about his writing process for hours, could even just sit and watch while Jinyoung sits and writes, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want some of Jinyoung’s attention.

“Hey,” he says, his foot nudging Jinyoung’s under the table. “What happened to getting most of your inspiration from me?”

Jinyoung smiles to himself, glancing down at the table before he looks back up at Jaebum.

“I can’t just write about love, you know,” he tells Jaebum. He reaches for his drink and takes a sip, and Jaebum watches Jinyoung’s mouth around the straw, lips pink and full and – perfect. Fuck. Jaebum loves him. Jinyoung puts his drink back down – this time, Jaebum watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

Jaebum only shrugs, tearing off a piece of the croissant and stuffing it into his own mouth.

“Nothing,” he replies, and that’s all they say to each other for a while. It doesn’t matter, though, because this is what Jaebum needs: a quiet morning to start off a quiet day. He has to work later – another unfulfilling retail shift that will have his back aching but will help pay the bills – and any time he gets to spend with Jinyoung beforehand will make it just that bit better, will remind him what he has to come home to. Jaebum wishes he didn’t have to, wishes it were at least a little bit easier to make a living doing music, but that’s just how things go. In some other far off life, he could be an idol, could have turned his b-boying as a teenager into highly choreographed dance routines and his song writing into singing entertainment company-written words until they let him have some control himself. He could be someone else entirely, a household name and screaming fans around the globe.

Jaebum tries not to dwell on those thoughts for too long, and instead focuses on _now_ , not _never_. The sun is shining. Jinyoung is in front of him. Jinyoung _loves_ him.

Eventually, their cups are empty, and all that’s left on the plate is flaky crumbs of pastry.

“Home?” Jinyoung asks, and Jaebum nods.

“Home,” he agrees, and _god_ , the thought’s so fucking cheesy that he doesn’t think he could stand articulating it, but he’s sure home could be anywhere as long as Jinyoung’s with him.

They make their way back to their tiny apartment, the sun still steadily beating down as they walk, warm on the back of Jaebum’s neck. He can’t help but start to hum, a sweet-sounding tune that might one day become a real song, and Jinyoung reaches for Jaebum’s hand. He doesn’t let go until they arrive, until he has to fish his keys out of his pocket so they can go inside.

Jinyoung opens the door. The apartment is small and it was cheap and the furniture doesn’t all match, but it’s _theirs_. That’s what’s important. It doesn’t matter that some winter nights are so cold they need to wear three layers inside. It doesn’t matter that just last week, the hot water turned cold as they showered, Jaebum on his knees in front of Jinyoung, mouth around him. (Jaebum still insisted on finishing when they got out, a towel draped over his shoulders and one of Jinyoung’s hands in his wet hair.) It doesn’t matter that the elevator in the building has had to be fixed three times in the last year alone. It’s their space, paid for and decorated by themselves. Their couch is comfortable enough, and the velvety armchair on the other side of the coffee table is even better. Jinyoung likes to curl up there to write when it’s raining outside, and sometimes, if it’s late and Jaebum’s been out, he comes back to find Jinyoung asleep, notebook still open. (Jaebum will always close the book, put it and Jinyoung’s pen aside, and find a blanket to drape over Jinyoung’s body.) Jaebum’s keyboard sits in a corner of the lounge, a mess of sheet music above the keys, and there’s a bookcase to one side of that, paperbacks sitting so tightly next to each other on the shelves that they’re going to start needing to look for another bookcase soon if Jinyoung keeps buying more books.

The kitchen and bathroom are small but enough for them, and the sun shines right into their bedroom when they pull up the blinds in the morning. There are boxes of notebooks underneath their bed, every page filled up with Jinyoung’s neat handwriting.

“It feels more authentic to me,” is Jinyoung’s answer every time someone asks why he does everything on paper. “The words flow better than they do if I use a computer.”

Of course he has to use a computer to type it all up, and some nights he’ll sit hunched over his laptop in the dark, the blue and white glow illuminating his face. Jaebum always tells him to come to bed, but Jinyoung refuses until everything he’s been working on is there on the screen. It’s the same scene played across different nights, different chapters that all have the same ending.

Sometimes when Jinyoung eventually does join Jaebum in bed, Jaebum’s still awake. He simply stretches an arm out across Jinyoung’s side of the bed and lets Jinyoung nestle into him, no words spoken. He thinks Jinyoung might have finally had enough of words for the night.

Then there are times when Jinyoung’s sick of words even though he chooses to drown himself in them for a living. He can’t make a stable income with just the writing he does, after all: he edits, too, takes whatever odd bits of freelance work he can get to earn some more cash. He’s good at it, precise and meticulous and unafraid to suggest changes.

“If I could, I’d rip this manuscript right up and throw it in the trash where it belongs,” he says sometimes. His voice is always calm and feelingless as he says it, even though his words are harsh, but it makes sense, really. None of what Jinyoung’s reading is making him feel anything. None of it is hitting him in the heart or bringing him to tears. That’s what he’s always said is important, and Jaebum agrees: he’s the same when it comes to music, though probably not quite as much. It’s much easier for him to appreciate a catchy pop song than it is for Jinyoung to find anything he likes about lowbrow literature.

He feels a lot of the same frustration, though. They both feel voiceless, both feel like they aren’t being heard even though they’re both _trying_ , and so hard, too.

Jaebum posts his music online, both covers and original songs, but he doesn’t know how to get any real exposure. He sings in bars and coffee shops when there are open mic nights, anything he can to get people to listen to him. Jinyoung comes to support him, and their friends do, too, but Jaebum has no idea whether anyone else is paying any real attention.

The most that happens is someone asking him to be their wedding singer, an offer he accepts immediately. He’ll be singing, and making some money from it, and people will be listening to _his_ voice. Maybe not quite, because it won’t be his words that will be heard, but still. His vocals. His talent.

“Would you sing when we get married?” Jinyoung asks as Jaebum practices for it one evening. He’s in between songs, and Jinyoung’s sitting cross-legged in the armchair, notebook in hand, looking up at Jaebum over the top of the book’s cover.

“We’d have to do a duet,” Jaebum tells him, because they _would_. Jinyoung has a good voice, too, and when they sing together, Jaebum feels even more fulfilled by the music than he usually does, and that’s – a _lot_. Jinyoung would rather just write his words in prose than lyrics. He does poetry sometimes, though, poems that Jaebum finds himself wanting to live in, full of little details you only catch on the second or even third time around. Jaebum’s sure some of Jinyoung’s poetry would translate into lyrics beautifully. “And we could get Youngjae to sing when we dance.”

“We could,” Jinyoung agrees. A soft smile stretches across his face. It’s a dream, really – they can’t get married: not yet, not here – but it still means something to know that they definitely would if they were able to. Jaebum thinks about it when the silver band flashes on Jinyoung’s finger when his hand’s wrapped around Jaebum’s dick and working it hard and fast, when Jinyoung carefully sets the ring aside on the counter when he does the washing up, when Jaebum feels the cool metal against his own warm palm as they hold hands. He thinks about it whenever he looks down at the matching ring on his own hand, whenever he ends up idly fiddling with it, whenever it catches the light.

And he can’t help but think about it when he’s there, at that wedding, singing for a couple he doesn’t know. This isn’t the kind of wedding he’d have, but he doesn’t go to many, so it still makes the thoughts come to mind, even though these aren’t the songs he’d sing, either. He’s praised afterwards, and he’s given food to take home with him, and when he gets back and Jinyoung asks how it was, Jaebum tells him _good_. Because it was.

He can’t help but feel empty, though. This isn’t what he wants. Jinyoung, yes, and Jaebum wouldn’t trade Jinyoung for anything, not any recording contract worth billions of won, not his name in lights or his face on billboards, but he wants more, wants Jinyoung to have the _more_ he wants, too.

Sometimes, they get drunk on cheap wine and pretend. Jinyoung’s topping bestsellers lists. Jaebum’s just returned from a sold out tour in support of his biggest album yet. They’re successful, have achieved everything they want. They have their careers and they have each other, and it’s everything they need.

When Jaebum wakes up the next day with a hangover pulsing at his temples, he remembers and thinks _stupid_. That isn’t real. That probably-definitely won’t ever be real. Still – he has Jinyoung. He has Jinyoung beside him on the bed, soft from sleep but inevitably grouchy because of his own hangover. Despite that, Jinyoung offers to go and make tea for the two of them and heads for the kitchen. He comes back after a few minutes, and that gains Jaebum a warm cup in his hands and Jinyoung warm next to him, and _this_ , this is everything they need.

If Jaebum has a day off and Jinyoung doesn’t have any pressing deadlines, they might take a trip. Sometimes it’s planned, sometimes they wander aimlessly. They take the subway and make acrostic poems of the names of stations and the words in the adverts plastered above the seats. Jinyoung’s good at it, but what else is to be expected of a writer? They’ll grab lunch or dinner somewhere before coming back, keeping track of their favourite restaurants and cafés in case they ever go back to the area – Jinyoung keeps a list tacked to the noticeboard he put up in the hall.

On the days Jaebum doesn’t have at least the morning off, he makes his own tea and lets Jinyoung sleep, especially if Jinyoung was up late working. Today, his alarm goes off earlier than it has for at least a week: he’s working from opening to mid-afternoon. His feet are killing him by the end of it.

“I’m back,” he calls when he comes in afterwards, and when he shuffles through from the tiny hallway to the living room, Jinyoung’s sitting there, eyes on the door like he’s been waiting.

He’s holding something, a slim book with a shiny black cover. When Jaebum takes a closer look, he manages to make out some of the writing on it, and – _Park Jinyoung_.

“Jinyoung,” Jaebum says, voice hushed, brows knit in confusion, “is this…?”

Jinyoung nods, knowing what Jaebum’s asking. He stands up and steps closer to Jaebum.

“It’s just a collection of poetry, and I doubt it will actually sell much, but – I did it. A whole physical book published, just me.” He passes the book over, lets Jaebum hold it in his hands. “Open it.”

Jaebum does. The dedication at the front of the book says _For Jae_ , and Jaebum swears his heart skips a beat when he sees it. It’s subtle, just the first syllable so nobody reading would know who it is unless they know Jinyoung and Jaebum, but somehow, it means even more to him than it would if Jinyoung used his whole name.

“You didn’t have to do _this_.”

“Yes, I did,” says Jinyoung. “It’s for you, after all.”

Jaebum looks up from the page, from his _name_ on the page, a page of a book bearing _Jinyoung’s_ name on the cover, and at Jinyoung.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me this had happened, though? I mean – of course you knew.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jinyoung says, shrugging. “I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

Jaebum has to admit that he is.

They celebrate with takeout, eaten together on the couch, chopsticks occasionally reaching for each other’s mouths instead of just their own. The TV isn’t on, but there’d be no point: they’re only paying attention to each other.

And that’s how they spend the rest of the evening – paying attention to each other. Once clothes are off, Jinyoung’s back is against the mattress, and Jaebum kisses just about everywhere he can reach, Jinyoung’s skin flushed warm under his mouth. Jaebum opens him up slowly, lovingly, smirking when Jinyoung begs for him to hurry up. When Jaebum finally pushes in, he makes it sweet and steady, and Jinyoung kisses him, legs wrapped around Jaebum’s waist, pulling him in even closer. He’s beautiful like this, eyes somehow even darker than usual, pulling Jaebum right in. The noise from him is gorgeous, too: moans and sighs and Jaebum’s name, the sound of it all choked and breathless in between pleas for more.

Jaebum gives him more. He thrusts a little harder, a little faster, and when it’s time, he reaches to Jinyoung’s cock to bring him off. Jaebum follows soon after, the rhythm of his hips getting more uneven the more desperate he gets. He cries out when he comes, still inside Jinyoung, Jinyoung’s legs even tighter around him, his arms tightening around Jaebum, too, a hand stroking through his hair.

Afterwards, Jinyoung reads to him from the book. Jaebum lies back, head on a pillow, while Jinyoung’s on his front, leaning on his elbows as he reads aloud. He compares Jaebum to storms and the sea, to silver and gold – a place to call home. It’s the last one that really gets to Jaebum, that has his heart beating faster and his throat drying up a little. The moment Jinyoung finishes the poem, Jaebum sits up and kisses him before he can even think about turning the page.

“You really liked that one, then, hyung?” Jinyoung’s voice is low and delicate, and there’s really no need for him to even call Jaebum that anymore, not when they’ve been together for so long, not when they’re as close to marriage as they can possibly get, but Jinyoung still does sometimes.

“I did,” Jaebum admits. “I just – I can’t get over the fact that someone would write things like that about me sometimes.”

Jinyoung smiles.

“I’ll leave the rest for you to read another time,” he says, setting the book aside. “Sometimes it’s just best to look at the words yourself, you know? Not listen to how someone else thinks they should be said.”

“They’re your words,” Jaebum tells him. “I’m sure you know how you want them to sound.”

Jinyoung only shrugs.

“Sometimes,” he says. “But mostly they’re there for other people to work out for themselves.” His hand reaches for one of Jaebum’s, brushing over Jaebum’s ring. “Not like your words – that’s different. That’s all you delivering them. Your voice.”

“If anyone listens,” Jaebum says, and Jinyoung squeezes his hand.

“I think anyone would have absolutely no sense not to.” Jinyoung’s eyes are right on Jaebum’s; it feels like he’s staring right into Jaebum’s soul. He does that for real sometimes, in a way: he did it in the poems in the book that’s sitting on the nightstand. It’s kind of frightening, but it lets Jaebum know that he can completely be himself, that he has nothing to hide from Jinyoung, that even if Jinyoung sees the darkest parts of him, he’ll keep on loving.

And Jaebum will keep on loving in return. He has Jinyoung. They have each other, their friends, their families. He has his music and his dreams. For him, all of that is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading, everyone - come find me on tumblr @ vibetechs!!


End file.
